Chapter 315 - 6-7

Chapter 6: The Examination of Indifference

The months passed in silence, almost without Emiya noticing. There was little over a month left until his graduation from middle school, and, overall, nothing had changed. He followed the same methodical routine as always: classes, training, occasional reading, and long periods of boredom. The difference now was the constant attention from classmates who had suddenly decided to befriend him.

The mere possibility that "Yaoyorozu Shirou" would be accepted into U.A. and become a famous hero made the idea of being his friend irresistible.

It was irritating. But he had learned to endure it. After all, it would soon be over, and with luck, he would be free from all those smiling faces and artificial conversations. What bothered him most, however, was having been forced to participate in the exam for Japan's most prestigious school. All because of that damn rat and his blackmail.

The idea of becoming a hero bothered him. Still, he knew Nezu would find a way to guarantee his entry, regardless of his performance. Emiya, for his part, was determined to give the worst performance possible, even if a part of him doubted it would make any difference.

As he walked home, his thoughts wandered. Fourteen years in this world. Fourteen long and brief years. Time seemed distorted, a blink of an eye and an eternity at once. Despite all the criticisms he had of that hero-obsessed society and its symbols, he didn't hate it. The world, after all, was peaceful. A bit chaotic, a bit hypocritical, but peaceful. And for someone like him, any pause in his eternal task was paradise.

The sound of waves made him stop. He had approached the coast without realizing it. The beach before him, however, was unrecognizable. The smell of salt had been overtaken by the metallic, sour odor of trash. Mountains of scrap, rusted metal, broken appliances—a graveyard of everything that had once been useful.

Emiya watched in silence.

It was pitiful.

How could the authorities allow a place like this to exist? So many heroes out there desperate for attention, and none to do something useful.

Driven by an old impulse, Emiya entered. Among the piles of twisted iron and the wreckage of televisions, something dormant in him awoke. The old habit of disassembling and fixing what others discarded, an almost therapeutic quirk. Soon he was kneeling on the rubble, sifting through parts, examining broken cables and motors, immersed in that comfortable silence.

It was then that he heard a noise, the sound of metal scraping and human effort. He raised his head and followed the sound, curious.

A few meters away, a boy was straining to drag a pile of broken microwaves, televisions, and ovens, trying to move them from one spot to another.

The scene, absurd in its simplicity, made him stop for a moment. The sun reflected off the sweat running down the stranger's face, who, despite being clearly exhausted, didn't give up. There was something almost touching, and at the same time, deeply irritating about that useless effort.

Emiya crossed his arms, watching him in silence.

"What the hell is this idiot doing...?"

Emiya stood still, watching the boy from a distance. The young man, scrawny and panting, tried to move the pile of broken microwaves and televisions with all his might. He managed to drag the heap a few centimeters before slipping and falling face-first into the sand. Emiya sighed softly, running a hand over the back of his neck, and finally decided to speak.

"It would be faster if you took one at a time," he said in a neutral, slightly ironic tone. "Or if you reduced the load."

The boy started, turning quickly. He had messy green hair and a face covered in dust. He blinked a few times, surprised by Emiya's presence.

"And what exactly are you trying to do?" asked the dark-haired boy, arching an eyebrow.

The boy, nervous, began to stammer, trying to explain himself, but stumbled over his words as if searching for a justification that wouldn't come. Emiya averted his gaze and noticed something curious: a part of the beach was visibly cleaner.

"...Are you cleaning all this?" he questioned, crossing his arms.

The boy scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed.

"U-uh... yes, I am."

"Alone?" The disbelief was evident in Emiya's tone.

Midoriya hesitated before answering:

"It's... well, I thought it was a shame to see the place like this. So I thought I'd do something about it. And, uh... this also counts as volunteer work. I have an acquaintance helping me sometimes."

The explanation was weak, and Emiya noticed. His eyes narrowed.

"Volunteer work, huh?" he murmured. "Putting in all this effort alone seems kind of pointless. No one is watching, and no one will thank you."

Midoriya lowered his head, his shoulders tense.

"It doesn't matter if someone will see," he replied in a low voice. "If I can make this place better for other people, that's enough."

Emiya was silent for a few seconds. That took him by surprise. For a moment, he felt a slight disturbance, something familiar in that naive conviction. It was like looking into a foggy mirror of a distant time.

Midoriya noticed his own emotional slip and soon began to fluster again:

"I-I mean, it's not just for that! I also use it as... training, you know? To improve my physical conditioning while cleaning the beach!"

The boy's confusion drew a brief sigh from Emiya.

"I see... So you are," he said suddenly. "The boy from the slime monster incident, right?"

Midoriya froze. Shame rose to his face, and involuntary tears began to form in his eyes. He just nodded, looking away.

"Shirou Yaoyorozu," the dark-haired boy introduced himself after a brief silence. "Sorry for the tone... and the questions."

"A-ah, Midoriya Izuku!" the other replied hastily, trying to smile. "And you don't need to apologize, I should have... explained better."

Emiya shook his head, a slight discomfort in his gaze.

"I was rude. Let me help you, at least. Consider it compensation."

Midoriya, visibly embarrassed, tried to refuse.

"Y-you don't have to! I can do it alone..."

"No, I insist," interrupted Emiya, picking up an old television with one hand. "Just accept it."

Seeing there was no way out, Midoriya gave in. And, together, they began to carry the debris.

As they worked, Emiya watched the boy in silence before asking:

"What kind of training is this? It doesn't seem very efficient."

Midoriya explained his exercise regimen: runs, lifting scrap, and improvised repetitions. Emiya listened to it all attentively, then commented naturally:

"It's a start... but very basic. You're neglecting several areas," he said, before crouching down to adjust the boy's posture. "If you want real results, you need to balance strength and endurance. Like this, for example..."

Midoriya watched him attentively, taking notes in a small notebook he pulled from his pocket. With every word, his excitement grew. Emiya, on the other hand, began to wonder how someone so naive could still believe in ideals so... pure.

Time passed quickly. When the sun began to set, a part of the beach was already clean. Emiya wiped his hands and turned to the other.

"I think that's enough for today. I can come back tomorrow to help."

Midoriya seemed to hesitate.

"Ah, you don't have to! I mean, it's better if I continue alone..."

Emiya noticed the indecision in the boy's eyes but didn't insist.

"I understand. You must have your reasons," he replied simply. "See you later, Midoriya."

He turned and started to leave. On the way, however, he stopped before a pile of broken appliances. With a tired, slight smile, he picked up a few to fix at home.

Before leaving, he heard the rumble of an old engine. A pickup truck parked near the beach. A thin, almost sickly-looking man got out, wearing clothes too large for his body. Emiya watched him from afar.

"Hm... so that's the 'acquaintance'," he thought.

There was something strange about him, something familiar, though he couldn't say what.

He decided not to think too much about it. He just turned his back and left, carrying with him a bag of scrap and a new unease that insisted on not quieting down.

...

Time passed, and Emiya's time in middle school finally came to an end.

He wasn't top of the class, but, as always, he maintained excellent grades—enough for teachers and classmates to speak of him with admiration. During the graduation ceremony, many hugged him tearfully, as if they had been close friends, lamenting the fact that they weren't taking the U.A. exam with him. Emiya, for his part, merely smiled politely. The name of that school, repeated ad nauseam, deeply irritated him.

Still, upon leaving that environment, he felt a rare relief. He was free from another stage. However, knowing his own luck, he doubted the next one would be any less irritating.

The U.A. entrance exam would take place in a few days. While most young candidates used the time to study or train, Emiya immersed himself in his newly rediscovered hobby: fixing broken appliances.

There was no trace of excitement in him, much less any intention to try hard. For him, the exam was just an annoying formality imposed by a certain "rat" and his blackmail.

Across the house, Momo watched him.

She had already secured her place at U.A. through recommendation, thanks to her impeccable performance and perfect grades, but her brother's behavior disturbed her. He seemed indifferent, almost apathetic towards something that, for anyone else, would be the greatest challenge of their youth.

Momo doubted he was even taking the exam seriously.

And yet, deep down, she knew, as she always had, that even without effort, Shirou would be capable of surpassing everything. This certainty, paradoxically, only fueled her frustration. The irritation that was once just a spark was beginning to grow, silently, within her.

...

The day of the exam finally arrived.

Emiya woke up unhurried. He spent some time in front of the mirror, assessing his own image for the first time in months.

He had grown a lot, easily over 1.75m, and his firm, defined body made him look older than he really was. But something caught his attention: small dark spots were beginning to appear on his skin, and the black strands of his hair now showed a grayish tone near the roots.

He sighed.

It seemed that not even in this world could he completely escape the side effects of what had once been his magecraft. He thought about it for a brief moment, then abandoned the thought. He had learned not to dwell on the past.

He followed his morning routine calmly, until he was surprised. Momo, who had been avoiding any direct contact for weeks, appeared in the kitchen of her own accord.

She was tense, visibly rehearsing her words before speaking.

"So... are you ready for the exam?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

Emiya looked up from the coffee he was making and replied serenely, without revealing what he really thought.

"Ready enough."

The silence stretched for a few seconds.

Then, Momo took a deep breath and asked the question she had been holding onto since the day she learned of his intentions.

"Shirou... why do you want to be a hero?"

Her voice sounded sincere, almost sad.

"You've always criticized heroes, you always said you despised all of it... so, why?"

Emiya froze.

There was no simple answer to that, and he couldn't reveal his true motives.

Why would anyone want to be a hero?

What did it mean to be one?

For a moment, his mind took him back to a distant time, to another life, to a naive boy, obsessed with saving everyone. A version of himself he had learned to despise... but which, somehow, still lived within him.

He took a deep breath and replied in a calm, almost mechanical voice, unconsciously repeating words that weren't exactly his:

"Because... I want... to end people's suffering and see their smiles. I want to help everyone, even if no one else will."

Momo watched him in silence. First, surprise. Then, a brief frown.

But, in the end, she smiled. A sincere smile, the first in a long time.

"I see. Then, good luck, Shirou. Do your best."

He stood still for a moment, staring at her, confused by her own reaction.

When she walked away, Emiya felt a growing discomfort in his chest. He didn't know if it was guilt, nostalgia... or just the reflection of a past that insisted on bleeding through his words.

...

The hours passed too quickly.

Soon it was time to leave.

If it were up to him, he would have been late on purpose, but his parents gave him no choice; they had arranged an escort to the exam site to ensure "nothing went wrong."

And so, there he was, in front of the immense U.A. building, surrounded by young people from all over the country. Some looked nervous, others excited, but all shared the same gleam of ambition in their eyes.

Emiya observed this with a skeptical half-smile.

"Plus Ultra, huh..." he murmured sarcastically, thinking of the school's motto before him.

And, adjusting his backpack on his shoulders, he headed towards the gate.

The morning sun reflected off the U.A. building's facade, and a crowd of young people formed a line that snaked towards the entrance. The energy in the air was almost palpable, a mixture of anxiety, ambition, and bubbling dreams.

To Emiya, all of it seemed... tiresome.

He walked calmly, hands in pockets, avoiding the groups clustering excitedly, discussing strategies and training. Every face radiated expectation, something that simply didn't exist in him.

It was then that a voice called out to him, insecure but familiar.

"Y–Yaoyorozu-san!"

He turned his head and saw Midoriya Izuku running towards him, breathless but smiling nervously.

"Hm. You again." replied Emiya, arching an eyebrow. "Didn't expect to see you here."

Midoriya laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.

"Ah, yes! I... I'm trying to get in too!" he said, visibly anxious. "It's been a dream of mine since I was a kid..."

"I see." replied Emiya, in a neutral, almost cold tone. "I hope you make it, then."

Midoriya smiled, even in the face of the distant response, and waved before moving away to the group of candidates. Emiya watched him for a few seconds, curious. Something about that boy bothered him, not in a negative sense, but because it reminded him too much of someone he had tried to forget.

His brief reverie was interrupted when another candidate bumped into him roughly.

A blond boy, with an explosive countenance, shot him a furious look.

"Stay out of my way, idiot!"

Emiya stared at him for a moment. The cold, analytical gaze made the blond even angrier.

"Tch..." Emiya let out, bored. "The loud, narcissistic type. There's always one of those."

The blond, Bakugou Katsuki, as he heard someone call him shortly after, turned to curse at him, but Emiya had already moved away.

...

Inside the main auditorium, the candidates took their seats. The environment buzzed with excited murmurs. Emiya sat in one of the upper seats, leaning back lazily in his chair. On stage, a figure with spiky hair and a vibrant expression appeared, holding a microphone.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAND WELCOME TO THE U.A. ENTRANCE EXAM, MY YOUNG LISTENERS!" roared Present Mic, the examiner responsible for the introduction.

Half the room vibrated in response; the other half, including Emiya, just covered their ears.

"My God..." he murmured, massaging his temples. "Is this a test or a circus show?"

Beside him, a tall boy, impeccably formal in appearance, turned indignantly.

"Hey! How can you show such a lack of respect at such an important event?" said Iida Tenya, adjusting his glasses with a rigid gesture.

Emiya turned slowly, unhurried.

"Easy. Just don't care."

"What?"

"It's the secret to serenity." he added, turning his gaze back to the stage. "Try it someday."

Iida's face turned red with indignation.

He tried to say something, but the noise from the microphone interrupted any attempt.

Emiya just kept the same lazy half-smile.

Present Mic gesticulated with exaggerated energy on stage, shouting the model numbers and their respective point values. Most of the crowd followed him with eyes shining with excitement.

But then, a voice cut through the air.

"Excuse me!" shouted Iida with his rigid posture and determined expression. "There are four types of robots in the illustration, but you only mentioned three! Isn't that a serious error for an institution of U.A.'s caliber?"

Present Mic blinked, surprised for a moment, but kept his characteristic smile.

Iida remained firm, he continued his speech, extolling the importance of clarity and seriousness in such a prestigious test, talking about determination and discipline.

As he spoke, Midoriya, just ahead, was murmuring to himself, repeating the numbers and names of the robots, completely absorbed in his own thoughts.

"Hey, you there!" Iida turned, indignant. "Your muttering is distracting everyone! Show a minimum of respect for the process!"

Midoriya paled and bowed quickly, stammering an apology.

Emiya watched the scene with a mix of boredom and irritation.

He let out a short sigh, almost inaudible, and commented in a low tone, but clearly audible enough to annoy:

"If everyone here is as tense as you, this exam is going to be hell."

Iida snapped his neck in his direction, indignant.

"And you! That sloppy posture and apathetic gaze... Are you treating this like a joke? The U.A. exam is one of the most important tests in the country, not a neighborhood fair!"

Emiya slowly looked up, meeting his gaze with total disinterest.

"Ah... sorry. I thought it was a motivational speech, not a military inspection."

Some nearby candidates laughed discreetly; others looked away, fearing the tense atmosphere that was forming.

Iida's face turned red with indignation, and he seemed about to respond, but before he could retort, Present Mic took back the microphone with a laugh.

"Okay, everyone, focus here! The tall kid with glasses is right—thereisa fourth type of robot, but it's worth zero points!"

"It's just an obstacle, something you should avoid! If you try to face it, you'll be wasting time and energy! Understood?"

The murmurs ceased. Everyone turned their attention back to the deafening-voiced hero. Everyone, except Emiya, who just looked away again.

He stretched his neck, observing the crowd in front of him: Iida, rigid and determined; Midoriya, nervous and trembling; dozens of other young people buzzing about what was to come. All eager to prove their worth. And he, in the middle of them, wishing only to disappear.

...

On another floor, behind a wall of reinforced glass, Nezu watched intently the images transmitted from the auditorium cameras. The small principal nibbled on a piece of biscuit while flipping, with his tiny paws, through an answer booklet identified with impeccable handwriting:

"Shirou Yaoyorozu."

Nezu adjusted his glasses on his snout and let out a short, curious squeak.

"Hmmm... curious. He managed to get absolutely every question on the written exam wrong."

Behind him, Aizawa raised an eyebrow, his arms crossed as always.

"You're telling me the kid scored zero?"

"Oh, no," replied Nezu, with an almost amused glint in his eyes. "I'm saying he got them wrong on purpose."

Aizawa frowned.

"Are you sure?"

Nezu flipped a few more pages and placed the booklet on the desk, turning it towards Aizawa.

"All the multiple-choice questions are marked incorrectly. And not randomly. He chose the worst possible option for each one... which means he knew the right one."

Aizawa let out a tired sigh.

"So he wanted to fail."

"Exactly." Nezu gave a small smile. "But look, the essay is the best part."

Aizawa approached, reading the beginning of the text quickly.

His eyebrows rose as he advanced through the lines.

"He spent the entire essay insulting heroes... in detail. Compared the system to a vanity machine and ended with a..." Aizawa paused, frowning "drawing of a dead rat?"

Nezu let out an amused chuckle.

"Oh, yes! Quite artistic, I must admit. He even took care with the viscera."

Aizawa rolled his eyes.

"And you're still enjoying this."

"Of course I am." Nezu replied calmly. "It's rare to find someone who tries to provoke me so directly. Shirou Yaoyorozu believes he can push me away, but his spot is already guaranteed, no matter what he writes."

"Then why force him to take the exam?" Questioned Aizawa, impatient. "If you're going to include him anyway, this is all a waste of time."

Nezu rested his chin on his paws and watched the cameras attentively.

"Because I want to understand the boy. See how he reacts to different situations. He is... intriguing."

Aizawa snorted.

"He's just another problematic teenager."

"Perhaps." Nezu shook his head slowly. "But even when he tries to fail, he still reveals a lot about himself. I'm particularly curious to see how he'll behave in the practical exam."

Aizawa turned, adjusting his scarf.

"If he keeps sabotaging himself, he'll be useless."

"Oh, but self-sabotage is a form of resistance, don't you think?" replied Nezu with an enigmatic smile. "And resistance is a... fascinating characteristic."

Aizawa was already heading for the door.

"Just promise me one thing. If he continues with this behavior, place him in a class that matches his performance."

Nezu just smiled, not answering.

Aizawa stopped at the door, narrowing his eyes.

"You're just going to dump him in my class, aren't you?"

Nezu bit another piece of biscuit, his gaze fixed on the screen.

"Who knows?" he said only, his voice laden with an almost childish satisfaction.

Aizawa sighed deeply, shaking his head before leaving the room.

The sound of the door closing echoed, and Nezu remained alone, watching the image of Shirou Yaoyorozu on the cameras.

His smile widened slowly.

Let's see how far you try to run, boy.

...

Meanwhile, in the auditorium, Present Mic finally ended the explanation.

The crowd rose with shouts of excitement and tension.

Emiya yawned discreetly and stretched.

"Finally..." he murmured, with irony "time to not impress anyone."

And with a slight cynical smile, he followed the group to the testing grounds.

...

The waiting area buzzed with anticipation.

The candidates, now dressed in athletic clothes and suitable sneakers, were warming up, stretching, and taking deep breaths, like warriors about to enter the field. Almost all of them... except Emiya.

He was leaning against a wall, arms crossed, looking at the scene with disinterest. The noise of animated voices, the clinking of identification bracelets, the anxious murmur about "strategies" and "robot types" bored him.

While the others stretched, Emiya simply watched the floor, with the expression of someone who wished they were anywhere else.

It was then that an abrupt sound pulled him from his reverie: heavy, hurried footsteps, accompanied by an annoyingly loud voice.

"Hey, you bastard!" Roared Bakugou Katsuki, approaching with his usual smile that looked more like a warning of an imminent explosion.

Emiya turned slowly, his gaze cold, showing no emotion.

"Are you ignoring me again, is that it?" Bakugou took a step forward, the sweat on his face glistening. "You bumped into me earlier and pretended I didn't exist, you arrogant shit!"

For a moment, the two stared at each other. The tension between them was almost palpable, as if the air around them could ignite at any moment.

Emiya sighed, looking away like someone closing a boring book. Without a word, he simply turned his back and started walking.

Bakugou stood still for a second, rage boiling under his skin.

"WHAT?!" he shouted, taking a step forward, his palms already sparking.

Before he could lunge, one of the examiners raised his voice over the loudspeaker:

"Participants, remain in your designated areas. The practical test will begin shortly."

Bakugou gritted his teeth, cursed something inaudible, and moved away, his gaze still fixed on Emiya's back.

Nearby, Midoriya watched the scene, a mix of nervousness and curiosity on his face.

Why was Kacchan yelling over there?

He barely had time to reflect, as something familiar caught his attention: a girl with light brown hair, the same one who had helped him earlier that day, was a few meters away.

He rehearsed a step in her direction but was immediately intercepted by Iida, who was adjusting his glasses exaggeratedly.

"Young man! We are about to begin the exam! This is no time for distractions! Your lack of focus is unacceptable in an environment of such seriousness!"

Midoriya tried to explain, stumbling over his words, and then a hand landed on Iida's shoulder, pushing him gently aside.

Emiya passed between the two, his bored gaze.

"You talk too much, four-eyes. If you spent half that breath doing something useful, maybe you'd have passed the exam already."

Iida took a step back, indignant.

"That is completely inappropriate! You should at least show respect and..."

Emiya didn't even wait for him to finish.

"...and maybe relax a little." he completed, with a cynical half-smile. "Or you'll have a breakdown before the test."

The atmosphere around them grew heavy. Some candidates laughed softly; others just watched, tense. Iida flushed with anger, but before he could retort, Present Mic's vibrant voice echoed through the loudspeakers:

"YOOOO, future heroes! The time has come!"

The sound almost shook the ground.

"Prepare yourselves, test subjects number one!" he shouted, with the energy of someone announcing a rock show.

The huge metal gates ahead began to open, revealing the artificially lit urban testing ground.

Emiya sighed, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Let the circus begin," he murmured to himself, walking unhurriedly among the others.

Midoriya watched him from afar, intrigued.

That young man with the cold gaze and calm steps...

He didn't seem nervous, nor excited, just tired.

And, for some reason, that made him even more curious.

...

The testing ground rose before them, an artificial city, meticulously built just for that exam.

Wide streets, buildings, and artificial smoke created an atmosphere of urban warfare, but to Emiya, it all seemed just an expensive theater.

"How much money did that damn rat waste on this?" he thought, crossing his arms.

When the signal sounded, the candidates surged forward, running as if their lives depended on it.

Shouts, explosions, metallic sounds echoed everywhere. And Emiya... just walked.

His calm pace completely contrasted with the rush. Iida, looking back, grew even more irritated by that insolent posture.

"He doesn't take anything seriously. Why is someone like him here?!"

It was then that Emiya turned his head slightly, his golden eyes fixing on Iida for a moment.

The bespectacled boy felt a chill, and before he could understand why, he saw a blade, ethereal, translucent, and vibrating, appear in Shirou's hand.

In a single motion, the boy leaned and hurled the sword with devastating force.

Iida froze. His body refused to react; fear immobilized him completely. The blade cut through the air, coming straight for him.

And then—impact.

The metallic sound echoed behind him. Turning around, Iida saw the body of a robot, shattered and smoking. The blade had pierced the head of the machine that was about to strike him from behind.

For a moment, Iida remained in shock, trying to process what had just happened. When he came to, Emiya was already beside him, standing on the robot's wreckage.

"Maybe try to pay attention next time," he said with disdain. "It'll be hard to run if you lose your head."

Before Iida could respond, Emiya had already moved away, scaling a building as if gravity were just an inconvenient detail.

Iida clenched his fists, breathing deeply, ashamed.

"I hate that guy...", he thought, returning to the fight.

...

From the top of a building, Emiya watched everything.

He didn't hunt robots, didn't care about points. He just observed.

From time to time, he fired a precise arrow to destroy a machine threatening a candidate, but nothing more.

To him, the robots were just walking scrap, large, noisy toys.

"If one of these kids dies, I wonder if the rat will laugh?" he thought, with bitter irony.

His eyes wandered the field until they found Midoriya, still unharmed, but also without having destroyed a single robot.

Emiya frowned.

"He still hasn't used his Quirk... why?"

For a moment, he wondered if the boy even had one. But the idea seemed absurd to him.

No one would be foolish enough to come here without any power. And yet... there was something about that boy that unsettled him, perhaps because, in some way, Midoriya reminded him of who he himself had once been, and that memory irritated him deeply.

Suddenly, a tremor shook the ground.

The sound of metallic footsteps echoed like thunder.

From the horizon, three colossal robots emerged, each the size of a building.

The ground trembled under their movement.

"Another exaggeration for the list...", sighed Emiya.

"How much money does that rat have?"

The candidates began to retreat in panic; after all, the zero-pointers were worthless. It was useless to fight them.

But then Emiya noticed something different.

Midoriya wasn't retreating.

On the contrary, he was running towards the robots.

Emiya's expression changed.

He followed the boy's gaze and saw the scene: a girl trapped under rubble, directly in the path of one of the colossi.

"Idiot."

He projected a bow in his hands, energy pulsing with intensity. He prepared to fire a Broken Phantasm, a shot that would reduce the machines to ashes.

But then... he hesitated.

His curiosity overcame instinct.

"I want to see how far you'll go, kid."

He watched with the bow drawn, ready to act at any moment.

Midoriya jumped.

Time seemed to slow down.

His fist glowed with absurd energy, and then the impact.

A single blow completely destroyed the giant robot.

The entire field vibrated with the blast.

Everyone stopped, mouths agape.

Even Emiya stood still, surprised.

But his astonishment didn't last long.

Reinforcing his vision, he noticed something terrible:

Midoriya's arms and legs were destroyed.

"Dammit."

Emiya reinforced his body to the limit, pain burning his muscles.

He leaped from the top of the building, crossing the air at an absurd speed.

Iida watched, paralyzed, seeing the boy fall, the same boy who had saved the girl he had deliberately chosen not to help.

He tried to move, but his legs gave up before he even tried.

And then, like a lightning bolt, Emiya passed by him, faster than anything he had ever seen before.

The impact was brutal.

He caught Midoriya in mid-air, twisting his body to cushion the fall.

The two slid several meters across the asphalt before stopping.

Emiya panted, his body throbbing. His legs were in shambles; the reinforcement he had used had drained much of his energy.

He looked at Midoriya, unconscious, and then at the girl who now seemed to be safe.

A tired half-smile appeared on his lips.

"...idiot." he murmured. "Just like the other one."

And then he closed his eyes for a moment, letting the distant sound of murmurs mix with the echo of his own contempt.

Chapter 7: First Day, First Mistakes

The first thing Midoriya felt was the pain, a deep throbbing in his arms and legs, as if every muscle was protesting having been forced beyond its limit.

He opened his eyes slowly, the white light of the infirmity blinding him for a moment. Everything seemed silent, too calm. The smell of antiseptic, the low hum of the machines, the distant sound of footsteps in the hallway, it all sounded unreal.

When he tried to move, he felt the weight of the bandages wrapped around his limbs. Out of reflex, he looked at his own body... and froze.

His arms and legs were intact. Sore, yes, but not destroyed.

He blinked several times, his heart racing.

"Was that... a dream?"

He remembered the impact clearly, the sound of bones breaking, the absurd pain... and then nothing.

"It wasn't a dream," said a voice beside him.

Midoriya turned abruptly.

In the next bed, Shirou Yaoyorozu was lying on his side, his arm under his head, watching him with a bored expression.

"It really happened. You passed out right after the blow. You would have died... if I hadn't caught you in mid-air."

Midoriya blinked, surprised, and color rose to his face.

"I-I... I see... so it was you..."

He lowered his head, embarrassed. "Thank you, really..."

Emiya averted his gaze, snorting lightly.

"Tsk. No need for drama."

A brief silence followed, broken only by the rhythmic sound of a heart monitor.

Midoriya hesitated before asking:

"What... what happened after? The exam, and the girl... is she okay?"

Emiya crossed his arms, his tone distant.

"The girl is fine. She was taken by the rescue drones as soon as the robot fell," he said simply. "The exam ended shortly after."

Midoriya kept his gaze down for a few seconds, digesting the answer. His expression fell a little.

"I see..."

Shirou watched him in silence.

That reaction — the mix of disappointment and serenity — irritated and intrigued him in equal measure. For a moment, he looked away to the white, cold ceiling of the infirmary and let his thoughts flow.

"He was the only one there who truly acted like a hero."

"He risked himself without thinking, for someone he barely knew. And he probably failed because of it."

"No points. No recognition. Just injuries and scars."

Emiya tightened his grip on the sheet slightly, his expression hardening.

"But maybe it's better this way. A kid like that can still have a peaceful life. Not like me. He doesn't carry the weight of the past, nor the obsession to fix the world. He just needs to step away from this damn idea of 'being a hero' before it destroys him too."

When he looked back at Midoriya, the boy was silent, but his face now showed a slight smile.

Not the smile of someone ignoring defeat, but of someone who feels relieved.

Emiya raised an eyebrow.

Midoriya took a deep breath and said, with a sincere gleam in his eyes:

"I managed to save her... that's what matters."

The simplicity of the phrase struck him deeper than he'd like to admit.

Emiya turned his face away, avoiding his gaze.

"You really are an idiot," he murmured, getting out of bed.

Midoriya blinked, confused.

"H-hey, are you leaving already?"

"I'm fine now," he replied, putting on his shoes. "I just stayed to confirm you were still breathing. Now that I've seen you are, I can go."

Midoriya blushed, scratching the back of his neck, awkwardly.

"Ah... I see... thank you, then."

Emiya walked to the door, stopping for a moment before leaving.

"No need to thank me. Just... try not to get yourself killed next time," he said without looking back, his tone dry, but not completely cold.

And then he disappeared down the hallway, the sound of his boots echoing until it faded.

Midoriya stayed there, looking at the door for a few seconds with a serene expression.

He brought a hand to his chest, feeling his heart beat firmly, and smiled again, in silence.

Meanwhile, walking alone through the cold hallways of U.A., Emiya thought:

"The more time I spend near that kid... the more I see the idiot I used to be."

"And that's exactly what I hate the most."

...

The U.A. hallways were almost empty, silent.

The sound of Emiya's footsteps echoed rhythmically on the waxed floor, mingling with the distant hum of fluorescent lights.

He walked slowly, hands in his pockets, gaze lost ahead, still a little dazed by Midoriya's words.

"He managed to save her... that's what matters."

The phrase echoed in Emiya's head, like a melody both irritating and comforting at the same time.

He sighed, scratching the back of his neck.

"That kid... is truly a lost cause."

It was then that a female voice, hoarse and authoritative, made him stop.

"And who gave you permission to leave, young man?"

Emiya blinked, turning towards the owner of the voice.

Before him stood a short-statured lady, wearing a white lab coat and a sharp expression, leaning on an ornamented cane. Her eyes assessed him from head to toe, and the smile at the corner of her mouth indicated she wasn't easily fooled.

"You are..." he frowned, trying to remember. "The nurse... Chiyo Shuzenji, right?"

She arched an eyebrow.

"Recovery Girl, to those who know me. And I don't recall giving you permission to leave the infirmary."

Emiya shrugged. "I'm already fine. I decided to leave on my own."

She tapped her cane lightly on the floor.

"Fine? Hmph! Your legs were a bloody mess when I rescued you. You should be under observation."

"I don't need check-ups," he replied, uninterested.

Recovery Girl narrowed her eyes, suspicious.

"Young people today think they're made of steel."

Emiya looked at her sideways, with a half-smile laden with sarcasm.

"Steel, no. I just don't like being touched by ladies who kiss unconscious boys and call it 'treatment'."

The old woman raised her eyebrows, surprised, and then let out a rough laugh.

"Oh-ho! So you know how my Quirk works? How cute!"

"Of course I know," he crossed his arms. "Cellular regeneration catalyzed by vital energy transfer. Basically, you drain part of your own strength to heal others. A method... efficient, but quite invasive."

Emiya said it with an analytical tone, but inside he felt something different.

"Healing serious injuries instantly... a power like that, in a world like this... is almost miraculous."

"It doesn't quite compare to Avalon... but still, it's impressive."

Recovery Girl watched him attentively, amused by the mix of cynicism and disguised admiration in the boy.

"Hm... you're exactly as Nezu said you'd be."

Emiya's expression closed off instantly.

"That rat talked about me?"

"He did. And it seems he was spot on," she replied, smiling.

Emiya sighed heavily, averting his gaze. "Great. Another reason for me to leave soon."

Without waiting for a reply, he passed by her and headed for the exit.

Recovery Girl watched him go, resting her chin on her cane.

The smile on her face softened.

"That boy is going to give me trouble in the future..."

"Even if he doesn't realize it, he's the type who puts himself in danger without thinking, just to help others."

She shook her head, murmuring to herself:

"Just like all the idiots who end up becoming true heroes."

...

Outside, the afternoon wind blew lightly, scattering leaves across the empty courtyard.

Emiya stopped for a moment, looking at the school gates. Finally free.

Or almost.

"Hey you!"

The shrill and formal voice made him close his eyes for an instant.

"Ah no... it has to be him."

Turning around, he saw Tenya Iida approaching with hurried steps, his glasses glinting under the sun.

The boy stopped before him, taking a deep breath, his head slightly lowered.

Emiya made a tired face.

"Here to lecture me again? Or do you want to continue our morning argument?"

Iida looked up, and to Emiya's surprise, gave a short bow.

"Actually... I came to apologize."

Emiya blinked, surprised.

"Huh?"

"I was rude and presumptuous," said Iida, firmly, though his tone betrayed shame. "I judged you and that other boy without knowing you. I thought I was defending order, but I ended up just being arrogant. I am ashamed of myself. Please accept my apologies."

Emiya watched him in silence.

That honesty, that almost naive rigidity...

"He really believes what he's saying."

"He's not an arrogant idiot, just a boy with an absurd sense of duty."

For a moment, something stirred inside him. An old memory. A distant face, smiling, in a school uniform.

An old friend.

Someone who carried the same posture and seriousness, and defended his ideals with fervor.

Emiya laughed lightly.

"Heh... too cliché. It's like the universe enjoys throwing these coincidences at me."

Iida blinked, confused.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing," replied Shirou, still smiling. "I'm sorry too. I was a bit... harsh."

Iida seemed relieved.

"Then we're even," he said, straightening up. "Ah, and... how did you perceive the true intention of the test?"

Emiya frowned. "The true... intention?"

"Yes!" Iida adjusted his glasses, excited. "The test wasn't just about destroying robots, right? It had a hidden purpose, perhaps to assess empathy, heroic instinct...!"

Emiya stared at him for a moment.

Then, he simply shrugged.

"I didn't notice any of that."

"What?!"

But Emiya was already walking towards the gates, raising a hand in a farewell gesture.

"See you later, four-eyes."

Iida stood still, confused, watching him walk away.

"He... really didn't notice? Or just doesn't want to admit it?"

...

Around an oval table, the U.A. examiners were gathered. Stacks of reports, recordings, and holographic screens displayed the results of the practical exam.

In the center, seated with his usual curious smile, was Nezu.

"Well... I believe we only have the last candidate to evaluate; Shirou Yaoyorozu."

A few glances turned to him.

One of the examiners, whose silhouette remained in the shadows, commented:

"The boy was efficient, but... he didn't seem to take the exam very seriously."

In the back of the room, Aizawa crossed his arms, his gaze half-closed.

"Didn't take it seriously, huh?"

"Is Nezu really satisfied with what he saw?"

"And more importantly... how will he convince the rest of the team of that?"

Nezu then placed his little paws on the table, his smile growing.

"Ah... but that's exactly why he interests me."

The others exchanged confused looks.

Nezu continued, his eyes shining:

"Because the main characteristic of a hero... is not obedience, nor power..."

Nezu then paused, adjusting himself in his seat.

"It is..."

...

The sun was already beginning to set when Emiya finally arrived home.

The mansion was silent, too spacious for a single boy. The sound of his own footsteps echoed off the marble walls, mixed with the distant rustling of curtains swaying in the late afternoon wind.

As he crossed the main hall, a soft but hurried voice called to him.

"Brother!"

He stopped and looked up.

Coming down the stairs was Momo, dressed in casual clothes and with an anxious look she was trying to disguise.

She held an open notebook in her hands, scribbled with notes and charts, she had probably been studying since he left.

"You're late," she said, stopping before him. "What happened? Is everything alright?"

Emiya ran a hand through his hair, averting his gaze. "Everything's fine."

"And the exam?" insisted Momo, her eyes shining. "How was it?"

He hesitated for a second. He could make something up, but... he saw no reason.

"It was what it had to be."

The reply came out dry, almost automatic.

Momo blinked, confused. "That's it?"

"Yeah," he replied, taking off his shoes and walking to the sofa. "I went there, did what they asked. Nothing special."

She watched him for a moment, trying to decipher the indifferent tone in his voice.

"But..." she began, hesitating, "do you think you passed?"

Emiya shrugged, sitting down.

"Haven't thought about it."

Silence settled between them, heavy.

Momo pressed the notebook against her chest.

The enthusiasm in her eyes gradually dissolved into discouragement.

"I see..." she murmured, her voice almost inaudible. "I just... thought you cared."

Emiya looked up briefly, seeing her expression.

For a moment, something inside him wanted to say something, perhaps a "sorry," or just "it's not about you."

But the words died in his throat.

He just stood up.

"I'm tired. I'm going to my room."

Momo stood still, watching him go up the stairs.

The twilight light streamed through the windows, gilding the floor and highlighting the shadow he left behind.

She sighed softly, murmuring to herself:

"You've changed... Shirou."

Upstairs, already in the hallway, he stopped for a moment upon hearing the distant echo of her voice.

But he didn't turn around.

"Changed, huh?" he thought, closing his eyes for a moment. "If only it were that simple."

He continued in silence, the sound of the doors closing behind him muffling the last trace of the sunset.

...

The days dragged on.

Inside the Yaoyorozu mansion, the air was one of expectation, and for some, of pure anxiety.

Momo checked the U.A. website every morning, with every rumor, every update.

The parents also seemed discreetly anxious, exchanging looks and contained comments during dinner.

But Emiya, as always, seemed indifferent.

He spent his mornings cleaning, his afternoons cooking, and his nights fixing whatever was broken, an old clock, a kettle with a loose handle, a lamp with a worn cord.

He seemed determined to occupy his time with anything that didn't involve thinking.

When Momo asked him for the third time if he was nervous about the result, he simply replied:

"Nervous? No. I already know what the result will be."

The following week came and went, and on the eighth day, a white box, sealed with U.A.'s golden emblem, arrived at the mansion.

Momo ran to her brother, almost stumbling with anxiety.

"It's here! The result is here!"

Shirou looked up from the recipe book he was browsing and sighed.

"Finally, the verdict."

The family gathered around him, but Shirou signaled for them to keep their distance.

"If I failed, I don't want any witnesses."

He calmly tore open the envelope, revealing a metallic disk inside.

He turned it over in his hands, frowning.

"What the hell is this?"

Before he could figure it out, the disk emitted a light sound and began to glow, projecting a translucent blue hologram right in front of him.

The tiny, smiling figure of Nezu appeared, in his usual elegant suit.

"Greetings, Shirou Yaoyorozu!"

Emiya raised an eyebrow.

"Great. The holographic rat speaks."

The hologram blinked.

"And replies, too."

He narrowed his eyes. "Is this a live transmission?"

"No," replied Nezu, still smiling. "And before you ask, no, I am not omniscient. You are just extremely predictable."

Emiya sighed heavily, massaging his temple.

"You're already starting to irritate me."

"Excellent, we're on the right track!" replied the rat, cheerfully. "Now, let's talk about your written exam."

Emiya fell silent, crossing his arms.

"I regret to inform you," Nezu continued, with a false tone of regret, "that you got all the multiple-choice questions wrong."

"Impressive," murmured Emiya. "A personal record."

"But!" Nezu raised his little holographic finger. "Your essay, on the other hand, was brilliant. Impeccable grammar, handwriting worthy of an artist, and a fascinating perspective on the theme 'Responsibility and the Heroic Ideal'. You got the top score."

Emiya kept a neutral expression, but thought to himself:

"I should have used the essay to wipe my ass and handed him the paper. Would have had the same value."

"Ah, and your drawing was also excellent," added the rat, almost humming. "You have talent, you know?"

"Great. Sign me up for an art course."

Nezu laughed, the sound almost distorted by the metallic echo of the hologram.

"Now, about the practical exam..."

Emiya inclined his head, a little more attentive.

"You made a reasonable score, taking down a few robots. However..." Nezu paused dramatically, "it wasn't enough. I'm sorry, but you failed."

The hologram blinked and went out.

Emiya stared at the disk on the table.

"...seriously? That's it?"

For a moment, he almost believed it.

Almost.

The disk glowed again, and Nezu reappeared, laughing with his tail wagging.

"Bet that's what you wanted to hear, isn't it?"

Emiya clenched his fists.

"Damn rat..."

"As I was saying," Nezu continued, ignoring the insult, "the practical exam wasn't just about destroying robots.

It was about acting like a hero, understanding the true purpose of the test."

Emiya stared at him with disdain, but something in Nezu's eyes seemed to shine with malice and wisdom.

"Therefore, Shirou Yaoyorozu..." he said with a cunning smile, "you have been accepted, with an excellent grade.

Congratulations."

The hologram blinked and vanished.

Emiya stood still, staring into space.

"Accepted...?"

The words took a moment to make sense.

He leaned back in his chair, letting out a heavy sigh.

"So that's what the four-eyes kid meant... the true objective of the test."

For a moment, he thought of Midoriya.

"If that's why they accepted me... then maybe that idiot made it too."

He had barely finished the thought when the hologram lit up again.

"Ah, just one more thing!" said Nezu, in the same cheerful tone. "You got an excellent score even while trying to fail on purpose. What do you suppose that says about you, hmm?"

Before he could finish the sentence, Emiya grabbed the disk and crushed it between his fingers.

The metallic sound dissolved into sparks.

He stood in silence for a few seconds, his gaze lost.

"I really hate that rat."

...

The news came right after the hologram dissolved into sparks.

Emiya looked at the broken disk for a few seconds before sighing and standing up.

It was time to face the inevitable.

He went to the living room, where his family was still gathered.

Everyone looked at him expectantly.

For a moment, silence hung in the air, and then he simply said:

"I got in."

The reaction was immediate.

His mother brought her hands to her mouth, her face lit by a genuine smile.

"Oh, Shirou! I knew it! I always knew it!" she exclaimed, almost emotional.

His father, on the other hand, merely nodded with a slight gesture, his expression contained, but with a discreet gleam of pride.

"Good work, son."

Momo, who was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, tried to keep a neutral expression.

"So you did it, huh...?" she said, trying to sound indifferent.

But her gaze betrayed her emotion, a silent relief, mixed with pride and perhaps... hope.

Emiya noticed, but didn't comment.

He just shrugged and went up to his room.

The euphoria in the house contrasted with the emptiness he felt inside.

Later, alone on the city streets, Emiya walked without haste.

The night wind carried the distant smell of the sea and the muffled buzz of cars.

He kept his hands in his pockets, lost in thought.

"Three years..."

He sighed.

"Three years being forced to deal with noisy teenagers, eccentric teachers, and that sadistic rat overseeing everything from behind the curtains."

The thought made him grimace.

"Maybe I can cause enough trouble to get expelled..."

For a moment, the idea seemed attractive, until another came to mind.

"But... would the rat let it slide?"

He knew Nezu wasn't the type to back down from a challenge.

And if he decided to turn his expulsion into some kind of educational experiment, the result could spill over onto Momo, and even the family name.

And as much as he pretended not to care, he wasn't willing to do that.

"That rat... He would do anything to achieve a goal. Even if it were morally dubious."

The sound of waves began to fill his thoughts.

Without realizing it, his steps had taken him to the sea.

The beach was clean.

Completely clean.

Emiya stood still for a moment, observing the horizon.

That same place, months ago, had been a dump of trash and rust.

Now, the light sand stretched freely, and the sea reflected the sunset like a golden blade.

"So he really did it..."

Deep down, a small feeling of satisfaction grew in his chest.

Midoriya had finished what he started.

And even if Emiya himself would never admit it out loud, it made him... proud.

He walked along the sand, remembering when he had gone there looking for something among the trash to fix, old parts, useful fragments.

Now, nothing remained but the breeze and the sound of the sea.

A few meters away, a familiar voice echoed.

"Ah! Shirou-kun?!"

Emiya turned.

Midoriya was walking towards him, carrying a backpack, the same timid smile as always on his face.

"Didn't expect to see you here!" said the boy, surprised.

"Just walking," replied Emiya, with a slight shrug. "Passing by."

Midoriya smiled, a little awkwardly.

"I came to meet someone..."

Emiya nodded and, for a moment, looked at the beach again.

"You really cleaned all this up, didn't you?"

Midoriya scratched the back of his neck, laughing sheepishly.

"Ah, yes... it was kinda tiring, but it was worth it!"

"You did a good job," said Emiya, in a neutral but sincere tone.

The silence that followed was brief, yet awkward.

Both seemed to be searching for something to say, until Emiya, breaking the moment, asked:

"Did you get in?"

Midoriya raised his head, animated.

"Yes!" he replied, his face lighting up. "I still can't believe it... I thought I had completely failed!"

Emiya crossed his arms, hiding the hint of a smile.

"Congratulations."

He began to walk away, waving slightly.

"See you around."

But Midoriya called out to him before he could get far.

"Wait, Shirou-kun! You... got in too?"

Emiya stopped, sighing deeply.

He looked over his shoulder and replied, in the most discouraged tone possible:

"Unfortunately, yes."

Midoriya blinked, confused.

"Huh...?"

But before he could say anything, Emiya was already walking away with slow steps, his hands back in his pockets and his gaze distant.

Midoriya stood still, watching him until he disappeared down the street.

"He's... amazing. But I really don't understand him."

He turned to the sea, the wind messing up his hair.

For some reason, the sound of the waves seemed calmer that day.

...

The night before the first day at U.A. was silent.

Inside the Yaoyorozu family dojo, the sharp sound of footsteps and rhythmic breathing broke the stillness.

Emiya moved alone across the tatami, his body covered in sweat.

Each strike, each movement, was executed with near-mechanical precision.

His hands trembled slightly when he channeled energy.

The air around him distorted for an instant, and he felt his muscles pulse under the pressure.

For a brief moment, his body felt light, faster, stronger...

But then the pain came.

A sharp pang shot through his arms and legs.

He took a deep breath, his forehead covered in cold sweat.

"Still not enough... and the energy cost is absurd."

Relax, breathe, channel, he repeated the process like a mantra, but he knew he was at his limit.

His reinforcement was far from perfect.

He was forcing his body more than it could handle.

As he assessed the result of another frustrating training session, the dojo door slid open with a soft sound.

Momo entered, wearing the traditional white training uniform.

Emiya looked up, surprised.

"Didn't she know I'd be here?"

He wiped the sweat with a towel and prepared to leave.

"I'm done. The dojo is all yours."

But Momo stopped him before he could reach the exit.

"Wait, Shirou-nii..." she hesitated for a moment, but kept her gaze firm. "I want to practice with you."

Emiya stopped. He turned slowly, intrigued.

It had been a long time since their last sparring session.

For a moment, he felt a mix of surprise and curiosity.

"With me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Momo nodded, determined.

"U.A. starts tomorrow. I want to test myself... I want to see how much I've improved since last year."

Emiya observed his sister's expression firm, intense.

There was something different about her.

It wasn't just a desire to train; it was pride, self-confidence... and something deeper.

"She wants to prove something to herself."

"Alright," he replied, projecting a slight smile. "Let's see what you're capable of."

Momo positioned herself in the center of the tatami.

She materialized a wooden sword from her body.

Emiya raised an eyebrow again.

There were training katanas right beside them, but she had chosen to create her own.

"Interesting choice..."

He raised his hand, and with a faint ethereal glow, an identical sword appeared in his fingers, a product of his projection.

The blades crossed with a sharp crack.

The first exchange was quick.

Momo advanced with firmness, her attacks precise, with no unnecessary movements.

Her stance was solid, her gaze sharp, and every blow carried control and technique.

Emiya defended easily at first, his reflexes were more refined, his reading of movement impeccable.

But something made him frown.

"She's... much better."

The exchanges intensified.

The sound of swords echoed through the dojo like a methodical dance.

The pace was fast, but there was no disorder, only focus.

Emiya smiled slightly as he dodged another blow.

"Impressive... her swordsmanship is almost perfect. No openings."

Feeling the excitement grow, he accelerated the pace.

He increased the strength, the reach, and the impact of his attacks.

The pressure made him feel that familiar excitement again, the tension between calculation and instinct.

Momo retreated, her body moving in sync with her defense.

But one misstep and she was pushed back.

Emiya lowered his guard, certain the match was over.

But Momo, still in position, sketched a small smile at the corner of her mouth.

"Hm?" he murmured, suspicious.

In a quick movement, she threw the wooden sword.

The attack took him by surprise — he reacted instinctively, raising his blade to block — but before he could regain his balance, Momo was already upon him.

In her hand, a new sword — of real steel — emerged from her Quirk.

The blade descended in a sure strike.

Emiya intercepted the attack, but the projected wooden sword cracked in half, disintegrating into glowing particles.

Before he could react, the flat of the cold blade touched his neck.

Momo, panting, with a firm gaze and a victorious expression, declared:

"Game over, Shirou-nii."

Emiya was silent for a few seconds, processing what had just happened.

Then, a light laugh escaped his lips.

"Hah... yeah, seems I was careless. Didn't expect that."

Momo lowered the sword and smiled.

"You were the one who taught me, remember? 'Never lower your guard. Always expect the enemy to use dirty tricks.'"

Emiya furrowed his brows, remembering the episode.

"True... I used a low blow against you back then."

She nodded, satisfied.

"And today, I just returned the lesson."

He smiled, sincere this time.

"Seems you finally learned a little too well."

The silence that followed wasn't one of rivalry, but of mutual respect.

The blades rested, and the air in the dojo, once charged, now seemed light.

"She'll do well..." thought Emiya, watching his sister.

"Maybe even... better than me."

A small smile curved his lips.

"Ready for the second round?" he asked, his gaze serene, but challenging.

Momo, still panting from the first fight, took a deep breath.

For a moment, she hesitated... and then nodded, the competitive gleam returning to her eyes.

"I am."

The steel blade, still firm in her hands, reflected the soft light of the dojo lanterns.

Emiya, in turn, extended his arms, and two twin blades appeared in a silvery glow, crossing the air with a metallic sound.

Momo's eyes widened in surprise.

She had never seen him fight with two swords before.

"Dual wielding?" she murmured, intrigued.

Emiya just smiled, confident.

"You're not the only one who keeps a few tricks up their sleeve."

Momo adjusted her stance. Her sword had a longer reach, and she had already prepared new strategies.

She was sure that now, knowing her brother's style, she could match him.

But what came next was too fast for her eyes to follow.

The sound of blades cutting through the air barely echoed before Momo felt something cold and light press against her throat.

She blinked, confused.

Emiya stood before her — immobile, serene — with the flat of the sword resting against her neck.

"Game over again," he said naturally.

Momo stood still for a second, not understanding.

"Wait... what? How—"

"You lowered your guard when you adjusted your left foot," he explained calmly. "It was enough."

She gritted her teeth, frustrated.

"Again!"

Emiya smiled slightly.

"Alright. One more."

And so they began again.

The dojo filled once more with the rhythmic sound of footsteps and steel.

The blades danced, the movements were precise, but the difference between them became increasingly evident.

Emiya was truly impressed.

Momo fought with impeccable technique, each strike was firm, each defense well calculated.

For a human without physical enhancement, it was an extraordinary feat.

"She really has evolved..." he thought. "She's forcing me to take this seriously."

But Momo, on the other hand, felt the opposite.

The more she fought, the more she realized how far apart they were.

Nothing worked.

Everything she did — every attack, every feint, every variation — was read, predicted, and neutralized with frightening ease.

And he wasn't even using reinforcement.

It was just pure technique.

Frustration built up in her mind like a suffocating weight.

In a blind charge, driven by rage and powerlessness, she tripped and fell, her body sliding across the tatami until she landed face down.

Emiya approached quickly, concerned.

"Hey! Are you hurt?"

She got up, her face partially hidden by her hair.

He began to scold her:

"You lost control. That's not fighting, that's recklessness. Pay atten—"

But his words didn't seem to reach her.

Inside Momo's head, only the sound of her own failure echoed.

All the effort, the years of training, the hours of study, the simulations and carefully planned tactics, all of it just to achieve a half-victory through a dirty trick.

While he, without even trying, completely dominated her.

That realization hit her hard.

For a moment, everything seemed to darken around her.

"I'll never make it..."

"No matter how hard I fight... I'll always be in his shadow."

She took a deep breath, trying to regain control.

She stood up, firm, with her gaze lowered.

Emiya, noticing the change, took a step forward.

"Momo, are you alright?"

"Yes..." she replied, forcing a calm tone.

But her gaze wasn't the same.

There was sadness there, one he had never seen before.

He hesitated.

He was about to say something, perhaps try to comfort her, but she spoke first.

"Shirou-nii..." she began, her voice restrained. "I know that for you, all of this is simple. That U.A. is just another distraction. But... for everyone else who got in there, this is important."

She took a deep breath.

"It's important to me."

He remained silent.

"Then..." Momo continued, looking him in the eyes, "take it seriously, at least once."

Emiya didn't respond. He just nodded slightly, expressionless.

She gave a small smile — sad, but sincere — and walked towards the dojo exit.

He watched her walk away, feeling the weight of his own actions.

And then, suddenly, everything became clear.

That brief exchange struck him harder than any blow in the fight.

"She's right... I hurt her without even realizing it."

"My presence overshadows hers. And I don't even know how to fix that."

For a moment, he wanted to call her back, tell her she was good enough, that he just wanted to protect her...

But the words wouldn't come out.

And deep down, he knew that now, saying anything wouldn't help, it was better to give her some space.

Taking a deep breath, Emiya left the dojo, his heart heavy and his mind confused.

Each step echoed like a reminder of how he, unintentionally, was the very shadow of the sister who wanted to shine.

...

The first day at U.A. had finally arrived. Emiya, however, wasn't the least bit excited.

He woke up later than usual, a rare occurrence for him. He went downstairs without haste, finding only silence and the smell of fresh coffee. Momo had already left.

His mother, distracted while setting the table, commented with a smile:

"It seems she was excited. She left very early today."

Emiya just nodded, but inside he knew the reason was different. Excited? No... Momo probably just wanted to avoid him.

He finished his coffee in silence, moving through the house like someone who had already memorized every step of his routine. When he finally left for U.A., he didn't expect to find anything out of the ordinary.

But, as he approached the gates, there they were: reporters. Lots of them.

Microphones raised, cameras pointed, questions being fired into the wind like arrows without a target. Emiya raised an eyebrow.

Seriously? Don't they have anything better to do?

After everything he had witnessed in that world, this was far from enough to disturb him. So he simply ignored the commotion, calmly detouring to enter through the side access.

He followed the hallways to his classroom.

He was assigned to Class 1-A. In front of the door, he took a deep breath and thought to himself:

Please, I just hope there aren't any problematic students... or annoying ones.

He opened the door.

And was immediately greeted by the scene of Iida arguing loudly with Bakugou, gesticulating as if he were at a rally.

Emiya's sigh of disappointment was almost audible.

His gaze wandered around the room. Momo was seated right in the back, and when their eyes met, she quickly looked away.

Before he could say anything, Iida approached, rigid and enthusiastic like a soldier on parade.

"Good morning! Yaoyorozu-san!"

Emiya replied briefly, almost automatically. But before the conversation could continue, he noticed Bakugou approaching with an expression of pure contempt.

"You...!" Bakugou snarled. "That idiot who ignored me during the exam!"

Iida tried to intervene:

"Bakugou! This is not the time for—"

"Shut up, Four-Eyes!" Bakugou shouted, pointing a finger at Emiya. "You underestimated me, and I'm gonna make you pay for that!"

Emiya stared at him for a moment, completely expressionless, before replying in a dry tone:

"...Who are you again?"

Bakugou froze for a second, and soon began shouting curses, while Iida tried desperately to restrain him. Some classmates laughed at the scene. Emiya just sighed, already tired of everything before class had even begun.

It was then that he heard a familiar voice behind him.

"Yaoyorozu-san!"

It was Midoriya, smiling timidly.

"Ah, hello," replied Emiya, with a more neutral expression.

Iida, still panting from trying to contain Bakugou, turned and greeted Midoriya politely:

"Midoriya Izuku, right!? I apologize again for my behavior the other day. You perceived the true objective of the exam, it was a great display of perception and courage!"

Midoriya blushed, trying to say something, but at that moment Bakugou seemed about to explode, literally.

Before anything could happen, a girl entered through the door.

It was the same one Midoriya had saved during the exam.

"Ah, it's you!" she said, smiling. "We met during the test, right?"

The two began talking animatedly, while Bakugou fumed, Iida lectured about behavior, and Midoriya squirmed with shyness.

Emiya watched the scene in silence.

So this is it... Three years of this.

Arguments, shouting, social interactions... I'm starting to miss Alaya.

It was then that a hoarse voice echoed through the room:

"If you're here to make friends... you're in the wrong place."

Emiya turned and blinked twice, confused.

On the floor, crawling inside a sleeping bag like a tired mummy, was a man with disheveled hair, with a juice pouch stuck between his teeth.

"After all..." he murmured, yawning, "...this is the hero course."

Emiya stared at him for a few seconds, completely astonished, before uttering the only reaction he could formulate:

"...What the hell is that?"

Aizawa raised his lazy gaze to the class, still half-wrapped in his sleeping bag, while the students whispered among themselves.

"Quiet," he murmured, in a calm but authoritative tone.

The chatter ceased immediately, though some still exchanged confused looks.

The man's appearance wasn't very helpful. The disheveled hair, the deep eye bags, and the bored gaze gave off a... strange image, to say the least. Many students seemed to wonder if that guy was really a teacher.

Emiya, on the other hand, watched him in silence. The image he had of Aizawa until then — that of a severe, cold, and methodical man — suddenly shattered before this.

This is the same man who defeated me...?

In his mind, the contrast was almost comical. An apathetic hero, crawling on the floor inside a sleeping bag. He looks more like a malnourished stray cat than a U.A. teacher.

Not knowing how to react, Emiya simply greeted him:

"Good morning, Aizawa-san."

The man's tired gaze narrowed immediately.

"San?" he repeated in an irritated tone. "Call me sensei. And..." he murmured through his teeth, "I still can't believe Nezu actually sent you to me."

Sighing, Aizawa began to unwrap himself from the sleeping bag. From inside, he pulled out what looked like a gym uniform.

"Wear this. Let's go outside."

Without further explanation, he handed the uniform directly to Emiya, who, being the closest, just held it with a neutral expression.

"Gather outside," Aizawa added, his voice still sleepy.

...

The sun was high, reflecting on the concrete floor of U.A.'s sports field.

The students of Class 1-A gathered in a line, still not quite understanding what was about to happen.

Aizawa, with the same tired look and apathetic expression as always, held a tablet in his hands.

"We'll start with a simple test," he said, raising his gaze. "We'll assess the use of your Quirks under basic conditions."

Uraraka raised her hand, a little hesitant.

"Sensei... what about the orientation, or the opening ceremony? Shouldn't we...?"

"That's a waste of time," he cut her off, without even looking at her. "U.A. is not a normal school. I am also not a normal teacher."

Aizawa crossed his arms and stared at the class.

"During middle school, you were limited, forbidden from using your Quirks freely." He made a brief pause. "That only stunted your abilities. I'm going to change that."

He looked in Bakugou's direction.

"Katsuki Bakugou. In middle school, what was the farthest distance you managed to throw a ball in the fitness test?"

"Sixty-seven meters," Bakugou replied, with his usual confident smile.

"Right." Aizawa tossed a ball towards him. "Now try again, but this time... use your Quirk."

The boy held the ball firmly, rotating his shoulder.

A fierce gleam appeared in his eyes and, in an instant, an explosion echoed, shaking the air.

The ball disappeared over the horizon, flying hundreds of meters away until it was lost from sight.

A beep sounded from the measuring device.

705.2 meters.

The entire field filled with murmurs.

Some students shouted in excitement, others just watched, dumbfounded.

Emiya, however, remained still.

His eyes followed the trail of smoke left by the explosion and then turned to Aizawa.

He really doesn't waste time with ceremonies... straight to the point.

The methodical and dry way he conducted the test was, in a way, interesting.

But what caught Emiya's attention the most was his gaze, calm expressionless, observing each student like someone disassembling a machine to understand its workings.

It's not just severity... it's pure analysis.

But where is the line between a teacher and a clinical evaluator?

He crossed his arms, reflecting.

Aizawa didn't seem to be there to teach, he seemed to test, observe, measure each one's potential as if they were unfinished weapons.

Maybe that's what Nezu sees in him... someone who separates the essential from the superfluous.

While Emiya pondered, Midoriya watched everything from another angle.

His heart beat fast.

He had known Bakugou since childhood, and seeing that absurd result, now in an environment like U.A., only made the distance between them more evident.

Seven hundred meters...! That's incredible...

But, at the same time, he knew it would soon be his turn.

And unlike Bakugou, he still barely knew how to control One For All.

If I throw with full power... I could get hurt again. If I don't use anything, I'll be the worst in the class. What should I do...?

Aizawa then turned to the group and said in a firm voice:

"That's the difference between using or not using your Quirk." He scanned the students with his eyes. "Now it's all of your turns."

The air around grew dense.

Even among the most confident, there was a sense of uncertainty.

After all, he had been clear moments before:

"The one who gets the lowest score will be expelled."

Midoriya swallowed dryly.

Emiya, on the other hand, let out a slight smile.

Expel the worst, huh?

So that's how this man teaches...

As the students prepared to begin their tests, the thoughts of the two crossed in opposite directions —

one trying to prove he deserved to be there,

the other just curious to find out how far that teacher was willing to go.

...

Aizawa walked across the field with the tablet in hand, his dragged and tired gaze scanning the group of Class 1-A students.

Even under the sun, he seemed like a shadow, the hood over his head, his body almost without energy, but his eyes... attentive to every detail.

First day and they're already full of expectations and noise.

He sighed.

It's always the same. The sparkle in their eyes lasts until the first disappointment.

Bakugou was first.

Explosions, arrogance, control over his body and strength.

Competent, but emotionally unstable. If he doesn't learn to master his own ego, he'll destroy himself before a villain even needs to try.

Iida came next.

Every movement of his was precise, methodical, almost too rigid.

Exemplary discipline, but still naive. Follows rules blindly. The type who hesitates when orders and morals contradict.

Uraraka was third.

The girl seemed shy, but her focus was evident.

The light touch, the precision, no wasted energy.

Her Quirk is versatile. The challenge will be physical strength and stamina. Still, she knows how to use what she has.

Aizawa kept observing.

Each student revealed a part of themselves in each test.

He didn't just see the power, he saw the behavior under pressure, the reactions, the emotional control.

Tokoyami, steady.

Asui, practical.

Kaminari... an idiot, but with raw potential.

Ashido, good mobility, but distracted.

Yaoyorozu...

Aizawa made a brief note on the tablet.

High cognitive ability. Good tactical reading. And, unlike most, knows to think before acting.

But then his eyes landed on him.

Shirou Yaoyorozu.

The boy advanced through each test with total coldness.

Excellent speed, above-average stamina, impeccable balance and body technique.

But... no manifestation of a Quirk.

Aizawa narrowed his eyes.

This again...

In all the tests, he simply executed them with pure physical strength and dexterity.

Nothing more.

The results were good — within the high average — but insufficient considering what the boy could do if he really used what he had.

Frustrated, Aizawa began walking towards him.

The boy noticed him but showed not the slightest sign of concern, just kept that light, ironic smile, the same one the professor was starting to detest.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Aizawa asked, his voice low but firm.

Emiya looked up, still smiling.

"Taking the test, Aizawa-san," he replied in an almost provocative tone.

Aizawa tightened his eyes.

"Don't treat me like I'm an idiot. You're not using your Quirk. Are you trying to piss me off?"

The boy shrugged, the smile still there.

"You didn't say we were forced to use them, did you?"

He crossed his arms.

"My performance is within the average. So, with all due respect, Aizawa-san, perhaps you should stop tormenting me."

Aizawa took a deep breath, feeling the irritation grow.

"Are you so overconfident that you act like you don't need to be here?"

Emiya sighed, his gaze drifting away for an instant.

"Not overconfidence. Just awareness of reality. I'm not here by my own will, and you, of all people, should understand that all of this is... a waste of time for me."

For a moment, the two stared at each other in silence.

Then, Aizawa let out a slight smile from the corner of his mouth, devoid of any humor.

"Funny... in my experience, people who say that kind of thing are usually the ones who need to be here the most. And to be honest, you're not as good as you think you are."

Emiya raised an eyebrow, the smile returning, now with a colder edge.

"Are you saying that because of that fight we had?"

He gave a light laugh.

"That was a fluke. A miscalculation. It wouldn't happen again."

Aizawa's gaze hardened.

He knew that, in terms of combat technique, the boy wasn't bluffing.

Even limited, even in that teenage body, there was something different about him, a posture a weight, as if he carried ages of experience.

And, indeed, Emiya's first defeat hadn't been simple. Aizawa's capture scarf had surprised him, with his ability deactivated he wasn't able to analyze them, an unlikely tactic that caught the boy off guard.

However, now that he had analyzed them, they would never work again.

Under no other circumstances would Aizawa have a chance of defeating him.

Still, the professor maintained his dry tone:

"It's precisely because of this arrogant and self-destructive behavior that you need to be here."

Silence.

Aizawa sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

"Unfortunately, I can't expel you right now. But I also won't force you to do anything."

He gestured with his chin towards the field gates.

"They're open. If you really think you have nothing to do here... then don't waste my time or yours."

Emiya let out a brief sigh, the smile disappearing for an instant.

"I wish things were that simple..." he murmured.

Aizawa just turned around, walking back to the center of the field, his scarf swaying in the wind.

He didn't look back, but he knew the boy was still watching him, immobile indecipherable.

...

Midoriya watched his classmates attentively as the test progressed.

Each one demonstrated not only power but also a reflection of who they were.

He made mental notes, an old habit that not even the nervousness of the first day could suppress.

Bakugou... still as explosive as ever. Impressive strength, but lacks control.

Iida is fast and technical, but still seems constrained by his own rules.

Uraraka-san uses her Quirk well, even under pressure. She's more confident than she appears.

As the tests advanced, Midoriya noticed the differences between everyone, and he felt increasingly insecure.

But what intrigued him the most was Emiya.

Since the beginning of the day, the boy had kept to himself.

He didn't seek attention, showed no interest in competing.

And yet, in every physical exercise, his performance was impeccable, clean, precise, almost professional movements.

Without a single demonstration of a Quirk.

Midoriya looked at him from time to time, trying to understand.

How can someone maintain that level of performance without using any power?

And there was that gaze distant, indifferent, as if none of it affected him.

Midoriya didn't know whether to admire him or fear him.

Is he really that strong? Or... does he just not care?

The young hero-in-training sighed, turning his attention to the next test.

Now it would be his turn.

Aizawa, still with the tablet in hand, watched Midoriya walk up to the throwing line.

The boy looked like a thread about to snap. The way he held the ball, the tremor in his fingers, the cold sweat running down his temple... it all betrayed fear and pressure.

Aizawa sighed internally.

"Another one who thinks he can become a hero just with willpower."

"Midoriya Izuku," he called, without emotion. "Use your Quirk and make the throw."

Midoriya swallowed dryly.

He positioned himself.

Took a deep breath.

Tried to gather One For All in his arm, like he had done in the entrance exam.

For a moment, the air vibrated around his body. But before he could throw—

Aizawa blinked.

The energy vanished. As if it had never existed.

Midoriya stumbled a step, shocked.

The professor had his hair standing on end, his capture scarf floating, and his red eyes glowing.

"Gonna destroy yourself again?" Aizawa asked, his voice cutting. "Is that what you want? If you break another bone, I'll expel you. Here and now."

Midoriya froze.

"I-I... just... wanted to show what I can do..."

Aizawa closed his eyes, returning to normal.

"Being a hero isn't about shouting what you want. It's about having real capacity for it. Learn that before you get yourself killed trying."

He took a step back.

"Try again. But without the stupidity."

Midoriya took a deep breath, his whole body trembling.

Uraraka watched with her hands clasped, apprehensive. Iida seemed to be holding his breath. Bakugou snarled something under his breath, incredulous and irritated. Momo analyzed every detail with her usual clinical gaze.

And, standing apart, leaning against the wall, Emiya watched everything in silence.

There was no judgment in his expression... just a serious curiosity.

"So that's it... the Quirk that destroys its own user's body."

"How does someone like that expect to survive?"

Midoriya closed his eyes for a moment, remembering All Might's words, the training, the dream.

He opened them again.

Determined.

He raised his right hand.

The ball firm between his fingers.

And then, at the last moment before the throw, he channeled One For All into a single point, his middle finger.

A single spark.

CRACK.

The air exploded on contact.

The ball shot off like a projectile, tearing through the sky.

Midoriya cried out in pain, his finger bending unnaturally, but he kept his arm firm.

Aizawa's tablet vibrated.

705.3 meters.

Silence.

Then:

"WHOOOAA—!"

"HE DID IT!"

"UNBELIEVABLE!"

Uraraka jumped happily. Iida bowed, impressed. Momo smiled in contained relief. Bakugou paled, trembling with rage and disbelief.

Emiya raised an eyebrow.

"...That wasn't technique. That was controlled suicide."

But, despite that, he felt something close to respect.

Aizawa sighed deeply, putting the tablet away.

"That was... less terrible than expected," he murmured. "But if you keep breaking yourself to pieces like that... you won't last a week here."

Midoriya, sweating and with his finger throbbing, smiled in relief.

"I... I did it...!"

Aizawa just turned his back.

"Next."

Amid the applause and murmurs, Emiya just crossed his arms, watching in silence.

The boy's strength had truly surprised him, not by the raw power itself, but by the conviction.

That kind of will... was something he rarely saw in humans.

He shifted his gaze to Aizawa, who was returning to the group with the same tired expression as always.

This man... perhaps he really knows what he's doing.

But still, as the wind ruffled his hair, Emiya held onto the thought that had been with him since early on:

"These three years are still going to be hell."

The field fell silent when Aizawa called the last name on the list.

"Shirou Yaoyorozu. Your turn."

The boy let out an uninterested sigh and walked calmly to the throwing area.

His expression remained the same cold, unreadable, as if he were just fulfilling a trivial obligation.

Aizawa watched him, eyes half-closed, without any expectation.

He'll probably throw the ball, record an average result, and go back to the end of the line. Nothing new.

But, as he walked, Emiya was still ruminating on Aizawa's earlier words.

That dry, analytical tone had struck him deeper than he'd like to admit.

And, behind that whole facade of apathy, there was a silent discomfort, not because of the criticism, but because of the truth it carried.

It was then that a voice called to him.

"Shirou!" Momo appeared at the edge of the field, her eyes tense.

He turned, surprised, seeing his sister approach with a frustrated expression.

"What are you doing?" she questioned, her tone severe. "Aren't you taking this seriously?"

" ... "

"Is all of this just a joke to you?" she continued, crossing her arms. "If it is, then you should at least respect the effort of others."

Those words struck him deeper than he'd like.

For a moment, he wanted to respond with sarcasm, with the usual irony he used to push others away, but he couldn't.

Momo turned away, frustrated.

"Stop playing around, Shirou. That's all."

And she walked away, returning to the line with a disappointed expression.

The silence between them grew heavy.

Emiya sighed deeply, bringing a hand to the back of his neck.

"Take it seriously, huh?" — he thought, walking to the throwing line. — "Maybe she's right. Maybe I've just been running from something I don't even understand."

The other students watched him.

Iida leaned forward, curious.

Midoriya, attentive, tried to understand what that boy could do.

Bakugou, on the other hand, crossed his arms with a smug smile.

"Hah. I bet this guy doesn't even have a decent Quirk."

Aizawa remained with his tired gaze, already ready to record an average result.

Emiya took a deep breath.

For an instant, he thought about simply throwing the ball and being done with it.

But, remembering Momo's disappointed expression, he felt a growing unease.

It was as if those words still echoed, tearing through the silence inside him.

With a simple, almost lazy gesture, he extended his arm.

A bluish spark ran through the air.

Ethereal lines formed, shaping themselves before his eyes until they took the form of a black bow, gleaming and elegant, as if the air itself had been sculpted.

The entire field stopped.

"I-Is that his Quirk?" Uraraka murmured, impressed.

"Incredible..." Iida commented, adjusting his glasses.

Bakugou, previously confident, now frowned, suspicious.

Emiya projected a translucent arrow.

He positioned it carefully, and then, with absolute precision, embedded the tip of the arrow into the throwing ball, fixing it in place.

The bow glowed for an instant, pulsing with energy.

"Hmph..." Aizawa murmured, observing the movement. "So he finally decided to show something."

Emiya positioned himself.

His eyes narrowed, and the tension in the air grew.

He pulled the string back slowly, the bow emitting a soft hum, as if the air itself complained about the contained force.

And then, he released.

A deafening shot cut through the wind, and the ball disappeared over the horizon like a comet.

The measurement system beeped loudly, the number flashing on Aizawa's tablet:

10,342 meters.

For a moment, no one said anything.

Uraraka let out a small gasp of astonishment.

Iida, shocked, just adjusted his glasses without being able to form words.

Bakugou stood paralyzed, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape, unable to accept what he had just seen.

Midoriya, on the other hand, watched in silence, his heart racing.

That technique... the energy, the precision... it wasn't just strength.

It was control, it was art.

"He's unbelievable..." he thought, feeling a mix of admiration and bewilderment.

Momo, in the background, had stopped completely, her lips parted.

A small smile, of relief and pride, appeared discreetly on her face.

Aizawa, finally, lowered the tablet, observing the result.

For an instant, a small, almost imperceptible smile curved the corner of his mouth.

"Hm. Not bad, kid," he murmured, returning to his usual posture.

Emiya just put away the bow, his gaze distant.

He didn't seem satisfied, nor excited.

But in his expression, there was something new, a silent lightness, perhaps born from the memory of Momo's words.

As he left the throwing line, the wind ruffled his hair, and for the first time, Aizawa watched him not with boredom, but with interest.

Perhaps this boy isn't a lost cause after all.